The Scent of Rain on Asphalt
by lost and by the wind grieved
Summary: Remus, abandoned by his parents on the streets of Paris, has since a young age lived and worked in the cities most infamous brothel: The Honeytrap. He is the main attraction and apparent heir. But, when he is accepted into Hogwarts school of Witchcraft an
1. Rain on Asphalt

A/N: This is my first fanfic and I am amazed that I even managed to work out how to upload it, I'm so computer illiterate! I wouldn't call this story AU because the characters are all there, all still wizards and there will still be Voldermort and stuff. It's just Remus' backstory which (while we don't actually know much of it anyway) is totally uncannon-like-thing.... Oh, and the writing style will not be like this all the way through, just for the first chapter.

Chapter One: Rain on Asphalt.

The boy didn't remember it. When he tried to cast his mind back it got…hard, as though he were wading through treacle. Everything became distorted, dissonant. He was sure he'd had one once, he must of, but that had been Before and that no longer existed for him.

Whenever the boy was asked 'Where's your home?' the speaker crouching, hand on his shoulder, face filled with concern and a hint of distaste, he would look at them blankly before turning and running down the busy street. He did this on instinct; the people at the Scary Place had looked at him like that too. Maybe these people worked for them; maybe they'd try to take him back there.

There wasn't really a lot that the child _did_ know.

He knew that he'd been bitten and that he'd been someone different before that.

He knew that the people who were probably his parents hadn't wanted him to come with them, come away from the Scary Place.

He was a curiously intelligent child and he also knew that the parent people hadn't lost him on the way to the home place but that they had abandoned him here.

And so he had been alone on the unfamiliar streets of Paris for three of the changes now. He'd been in the Scary Place for the first of these and he knew that those changes were bad.

They hurt. Alot. But that wasn't why they were bad. They were bad because the other, the one that fully emerged in those times needed to hurt people, which the boy knew was wrong. They were even worse because he knew that some small part of him enjoyed it when the other took over.

The men at the Bad Place had called him a werewolf. He'd never heard of them before, then again, he was only five.

The parent people had not taken him to the home place but he did not wish to return to the Bad Place either so he'd stayed where he'd been left, on the streets, or, more precisely, under them. He'd found a small hole that lead into a collapsed and disused tunnel system. The way in was big enough for a child to enter but too small for the wolf to leave. It was relatively dry and he had, thus far, been undisturbed by other vagrants.

He'd survived occasionally by stealing but more commonly by begging. He was a beautiful child; people pitied the beautiful ones. 'Waif' and 'Street Angel' he'd been called, he didn't care what he was called, he got to eat. The ugly ones starved.

The men at the Bad Place had been amazed that he'd even survived at all. No one that young ever survived the bite let alone the transformation. They'd called him their werecub. They'd laughed, apparently it had been funny, the parent people hadn't thought so though. 'How can you laugh? How can you say that his mind is untouched? He doesn't remember anything, not even us!'

The big doctor man had tried to calm them. 'It is miraculous that he lives at all, be thankful for that much. As for his memory, it is not uncommon for one so young. He has undergone incredible psychological trauma. Everything before the incident was erased in order to cope with the new personality that has taken hold.'

The woman had looked uncertain. 'His personalty seems the same…'

'And so it would, his mind is still basically humanoid, just as he is, at this time, _basically_ human. He can remember all that he has been taught. To read and write, to do simple sums. His factual recall and analytical abilities are brilliant for a five-year old; he could have gone far, this one. A pity. But remember _he is not human_, not any more. There will have been changes to his character, small but they will become increasingly noticeable the nearer it is to the full moon.'

'What…what do we do?'

'That will be arranged in due course. In the mean time we have been presented with a unique opportunity. There's never been a werewolf this young before. There are so many questions that your boy can answer for us. How do werewolves undergo puberty? In one changed before puberty, how does the beast's sexuality develop? Why, by the time he reaches maturity he will have been a werewolf for most of his life. He won't know what it is to be human. Such a chance for research! He will become a _true_ werewolf, not one of those sad creatures mourning their humanity, trying to ape people. He will, naturally, live with you for the majority of the time but we _must_ study him.'

The boy, in his subterranean hideaway, moaned quietly and wrapped his arms around him as he slept, surrounded by the scent of rain on asphalt coming through the drains from off of the streets. A scent that, while pleasant to some, would for him only ever signify loneliness.


	2. The Crimson Trail

A/N: At the moment the story is set in Paris but, as my French is very limited, I thought it best to leave any dialogue in English rather than screwing up the French.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, though I'm planning on kidnapping Remus and keeping him in my closet.

Chapter 2: The Crimson Trail.

It wouldn't stop bleeding. He'd changed back a while ago but this time the bleeding hadn't lessened as it usually did. Instead, the blood was continuing to seep out of his torn body at an alarming rate. The boy didn't think that this wound would heal by itself like the others had.

He knew he needed help to make the bleeding stop but he was scared of going to the hospital. The healers there would surely know what he was and they'd send him back to the Bad Place.

Thus far, he'd taken care of his wounds with stolen goods from the magical pharmacies around the city. He'd made a cautious acquaintance with a teenaged runaway who supplied him with bandages and potions. It was a relationship that worked both ways, once a month he would share some of his begged food in return for some medical supplies. It was no hardship to give up his food at that time of the month; he could rarely keep food down close to the full moon anyway. He felt no guilt about using stolen goods, if he didn't fix himself up after the full moon he'd be in no fit state to go out and if he didn't leave his lair then he couldn't get food. Besides, his supplier broke into the stores anyway, looking for drugs. He didn't ask him about the drugs and the teenager didn't ask him why he needed so many bandages and painkillers. The boy suspected that his supplier was keeping the best painkillers for himself or for selling but he didn't care, any relief from the pain was good.

The boy, though young, was canny enough not to let his 'friend' find out his hideaway. _He'd _always been the one to seek out the older boy, no matter where he was lurking. He was very good at tracking.

This time, however, he knew he was in real trouble, the wolf had been unrelenting last night, leaving the boy's small frame ravaged with one particularly nasty wound to his left wrist.

He'd have to risk it, he decided. Not the healers but somewhere with a lot of wizards, surely, if there were enough wizards one of them would be able to make the bleeding stop.

He staggered to his feet, pale and shaking, fighting off dizziness and nausea and made his way out onto the streets. It was pitch black but his night vision was excellent. Slowly, with uncertain steps, the boy wandered the street searching for a light. His blood puddling onto the road snaked crimson behind him, marking his trail.

Vaguely, he saw a figure in the dark a short way from him before his vision began to cloud. The sound of hurried footsteps resounded in his head along with the pumping of his heart. He was aware, rather than felt, that his knees where buckling.

_Maybe I left it too long_, he thought muzzily before his head met the road with a thud and he knew no more.


	3. Honey God

A/N: Yay! Finally, another chapter is completed. Thankyou to all who reviewed. It really made my day reading all your kind comments. If I didn't respond then it's because there were no addresses. So, thanks to:

**Misdarkdragon**: I'm glad you like my story 

**Chibi06**: here's your update, hope you enjoy it.

**Dasai-Konomi**: Thankyou, I like Remus too! And I like Pretty Remus even more.

**I-Shave-Clowns**: Thankyou. Pretty, different and alluring? I wish you were talking about me! Also, I really, really don't want to know how you got your pen name.

**Nightelf**: Poor Remus, indeed! I'm so mean to him. And I've fixed that anon review problem. Thankyou for bringing it too my attention.

Wow, so many thankyous! I'm too tired to write now…just kidding!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, though I'm trying to buy the rights to Remus

Chapter Three: Honey God 

Anton Dupres considered himself a lucky man. He ran a successful business, he had an uncomplicated love life and he was well respected by all those whom he cared to know, he was, in short, at the top of his game.

He was also the type of man who understood the importance of opportunity. Watching the small figure sleeping on the bed he wondered vaguely if he had struck gold.

The boy, putting it simply was stunning. He'd given Anton quite a turn, appearing out of the darkness like that, slick with the blood pumping sluggishly from his torn wrist. Using the first spell that came to mind Anton had petrified the child to prevent anymore blood from escaping before gathering up the unconscious boy and hurrying him home. The girls knew better than to ask questions and had bandaged him up as best they could. The employees of The Honeytrap were, in fact, very good at healing charms. More than once a customer had been known to get too…enthusiastic. But then, that was to be expected when you ran a business catering to almost every predilection imaginable.

The boy had been bathed and put to bed, still unconscious. His wet hair hung about his face, shaggy ends brushing his jaw line. It was a tad too long but Anton thought it was perfect that way; he imagined that when it dried it would be the colour of dark honey shot through with gold. He was of a slight build with fine-drawn, symmetrical features. His skin was pale, though not in the way that tended towards pinkness or freckles, rather he looked as though he had been denied too much sunlight. Anton could envisage the boy's skin lightly tanned, emphasising the child's golden aspect. He desperately wanted to know what colour the boy's eyes were.

Even the scarring couldn't distract from his overall beauty. There was a small number of slash marks and bite wounds, the differences in fading indicated that the boy had earned these on more than one occasion. There was on particularly gruesome one adorning the boy's right hip, it looked as though it had been completely encased by teeth. The nature of the wounds suggested that a large dog had inflicted them. Anton speculated on this, the boy was obviously homeless but was far too young to have been surviving on his own. No doubt his previous 'guardian' had taken a perverse enjoyment in torturing him. Desperate people would do anything to entertain themselves. Anton had made it his business to explore such avenues but drew the line at animal attacks. The Owner of wizarding Paris' greatest and most diverse brothel knew that, as in any business, profit largely depended upon the greater well being of the workers.

He hoped that the child would be happy here, unlike many other brothel owners he didn't keep his employees as glorified slaves. The choice of good food and shelter and warm clothing was generally too tempting to turn down. More often though, it was the thought of becoming part of a large, albeit somewhat unusual, family that drew the unwanted ones to The Honeytrap. Because, despite the nature of the place, the workers were a family. Many of them rejects from society or simply unable to connect in any normal sense with the outside world. Hermaphrodites, Half-breeds, Little People were a common sight here, united in a brotherhood of the flesh and all fiercely protective of their own. No, Anton didn't keep any against their wishes but he could not imagine himself letting this boy go. He was pulled from his thoughts by the child's stirring, fighting his way back into consciousness. Amber eyes snapped open and locked with his own. Anton barely had a moment to admire them before the boy pulled his lips back in a silent snarl and tried to propel himself out of the bed.

'I'm afraid not, my young friend.' Anton chuckled as he gently but firmly guided the weak child back down. The child lay rigidly on the bed, watching him wearily. _Exquisite but so…feral_, he thought,_ his eyes, they seem almost inhuman._

'Calm yourself. You are safe here.' Behind the wildness in the child's eyes Anton could see considerable intelligence. The boy was silently assessing the situation; he wondered how he appeared in that child's mind. Hesitantly, he reached out; the child made no move to stop him but never took his untrusting gaze from the man's face. Anton lay his hand softly on the boy's head in order to brush back his fringe suddenly the child flinched away with a hiss of pain. Anton frowned, uncertainly, a small welt had appeared on the boy's forehead, shining and angry. The child had retreated into the corner of the bed his eyes gleaming in the half-light cast by the curtain's shadow. _What could have done that?_ Anton's gaze left the boy briefly and flickered to his hand. It came to rest upon the large silver ring adorning his ring finger. _Silver?_ He thought incredulously, but that didn't make any sense. But wait… his eyes returned to the boy's own, unwavering with hostility and not yet human. The silver, the scars, the eyes, s_urely not, there are no werewolves that young!_ He looked out the window, to the ghost of the moon still visible in the daylight. It had been full last night. There was no other explanation, his ethereal Honey God was, in fact, a child werewolf, Anton smiled inwardly. A werewolf in the Honeytrap? It sounded perfect. _Struck gold? _He thought, _oh yes, indeed._


	4. Haven

Disclaimer: Still don't own 'em

Chapter Four: Haven

The child ignored the pain and curled up even tighter upon himself. He was confused. The man had brought him here, bandaged him and bathed him, he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so clean. But then the man had hurt him. On the other hand, he wasn't sure if the man had _meant_ to hurt him; he had looked awfully surprised about it.

The Wolf was still there, it liked to hang around for a while after the boy had changed back, suggesting things and reminding him that, while the pain might be over for one more month, the ordeal would never end.

The wolf wanted him to hurt the man.

The boy realized that he was growling softly. _No_, he thought and struggled to take control back from the wolf. It wasn't easy, it had been a hard one this month, he'd taken longer to recover and the wolf was always waiting for an opportunity to take control when his defenses were down.

The man watched his silent struggle calmly and with polite curiosity, the distaste the boy had become accustomed to was absent. That was the deciding factor, _no, we won't hurt him_ he thought firmly and pushed the wolf away with his mind.

The wolf retreated, snarling and he was in control of himself once more.

The man blinked and peered closely at his face, the boy was unaware of how his eyes changed when the wolf was in control. The shift from warm amber to swirling, molten gold, from human to inhuman.

The man cleared his throat, "are you feeling better now?" The child, still distrustful, nodded curtly. "You gave me quite a scare, last night." The boy didn't answer. After an uncomfortable silence the man continued, "I'm sorry if I hurt you, it was never my intention. I didn't know that you were, well, what you are." He added, not unkindly.

The boy's breath hitched, _he knows. He'll send me back. I've got to get out of here._

The man must of read his thoughts for, as quick as the boy was, he was engulfed in the man's arms the minute he jumped from the bed. Normally, he could have broken the hold but he was too weak from the transformation. He struggled but could not free himself. The man was saying things but his mind wouldn't register it.

He eventually fell back against the man's chest, panting and sobbing, too exhausted to do anything but beg. "Please… please don't take me back. I don't want to go back there." He hadn't cried the whole time he'd been on the streets, not even when the pain was at it's worst but he cried now, great sobs that racked his small frame. "I won't go back!" He screamed up at the man.

"I won't make you go anywhere, little wolf." The man murmured, stroking his hair. "What?" The child stopped, mid sob, suddenly wary again. The man smiled and released him. The boy took two steps back and stopped. "Whatever it is that you're running away from, I won't send you back."

"You won't?" The boy's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"No, I really won't. Either you can leave after having something to eat or you can stay here if you like. I think you'd like it here."

_Stay here?_ He thought, _make this my homeplace?_ "What is this place?" He asked, curious despite himself. "It is a haven for people like you. People who don't fit outside." The boy's heart skipped a beat, _"people like you."_

"Come, I'll show you." The man put out his hand yet still the boy hesitated. The man grinned, "Can't trust a stranger, is that it? Good boy. I'm Anton, Anton Dupres. Do you have a name?" The boy smiled slightly, he liked this man. He asked things the right way, not "what's your name?" but "Do you have a name?"

"Jean." The boy answered uncertainly. The man raised his eyebrows, amused. "Jean? Is it really?" The boy blushed and shook his head, smiling wider. "No. I can't remember my name." He wondered vaguely why he was being so honest. The man, no _Anton_, just pulled it right out of him.

"Never mind." Anton said kindly. "We'll think of something. Something a little better than Jean, eh?" he put out his hand again and this time the boy accepted it.

He allowed Anton to lead him downstairs, there were a lot of them this place was _big_. Finally, they came to a set of double doors; Anton opened one and motioned the boy forwards. He entered the room; it was massive with a great stage at one end, more like a hall than a room. It was lushly decorated in red and gold and expensive furniture and materials.

The people in the room didn't even notice that he'd arrived and just went about their business. It looked like they'd just got up; many were still eating breakfast, laughing and joking with their neighbours. One group in the corner was even practicing a dance. But it wasn't what they were doing that intrigued him; it was what they were. There were people of all ages, ranging from beautiful to fantastically ugly. Amongst them though were others - others who were definitely not human. There was even a man who had wings where his arms should be. He felt a hand clap onto his shoulder and fought the instinct to go rigid.

"Ivan, there, is a failed Animagus. He's come to accept the wings though I don't think he'd appreciate you staring at him. He's got a rather nasty temper." The boy ducked his head, finally aware that he'd been gawking. "Are there any werewolves?" He asked hesitantly. "No, no werewolves. We have everything from vampires to veelas. We even have a mermaid. But there are no werewolves. Do you think we need one Remus?"

"Remus?" The boy asked. "I thought I'd try it on for size. It suits you, do you like it?" The boy, who would henceforth come to think of himself as Remus, though he would not understand the allusion for some years, nodded.

"Well then, Remus. Would you care to join our family? To live and work with us?"

"Is it really a family?"

"We like to think so, though sometimes it does seem more like a menagerie." Anton squeezed his shoulder. "You'd be safe here Remus. We look after our own." Remus looked around once more, they all seemed so comfortable together, and no one was excluded. "Yes, I believe you. I…" he hesitated, unsure of how to communicate his feelings. "I would like to stay here. I feel…warm here." He wasn't sure Anton would understand him but Anton grinned and hunkered down so that he was face to face with Remus. "Good. I'm so glad you like it here. I told you before that this place is a haven, Remus. Do you know what that is?" Remus shook his head. "A haven, my friend, is a safe place."

_A Safe Place,_ thought Remus, unaware that he was clutching the hand on his shoulder possessively.

Anton Dupres noticed and smiled in satisfaction. "Welcome to the Honeytrap, my little love."


	5. A Curious Thing

Sorry! Sorry, sorry, to all of the people who were enjoying this story before I abruptly stopped. My computer got run over with nasty virus-type badness and died and then I foolishly (damn my eyes!) went to a country where I could only use public computers! Anyway, I'm back from Japan now and have a new computer so back to work!

A curious thing is infamy. Sirius Black had been infamous for the larger part of his life which, when you consider that he was only nine, is no mean feat. Come to think on it, Sirius wasn't even entirely exactly sure _how_ he'd become infamous. He had a vague suspicion that it had begun when he'd set Mr. Malfoy's robes on fire as a toddler, not that he'd done that on purpose... exactly.

Sirius felt that he could come to terms with the whole 'infamy' thing if only someone would tell him what it actually _meant_.

Little did young Sirius know then that, in the years to follow, his infamy would be the only thing left to him. But he didn't know and didn't care, thus, his story was to play out in the only way that it could.

Sirius Black was a privileged child as well as an infamous one. His family was amongst the oldest and most powerful clans of the pure bloods. He had wealth and control and status trickling through his veins and he hated it. It was boring, being privileged, you couldn't roll about in the mud or build forts with the other boys. It was all stiff dress robes, correct posture and marble foyers like mausoleums. The only thing that Sirius did like about his family's privilege was their house in Paris. The Blacks visited France frequently on social functions and business which were, in so far as Sirius had observed, one and the same thing. In summer the family spent more time in Paris then in their mansion in London; ostensibly for the purpose of enjoying the city at it's most beautiful and busy but Sirius had begun to wonder if it wasn't another one of those complicated status things.

Because Mr. And Mrs. Black were always off conducting business or visiting acquaintances Sirius and his younger brother, Regulus were left in the charge of the old House Elf attached to their French residence. Because the family did not use the house so frequently they had decided against acquiring a new elf and had kept the aging one left behind by the previous owner. More's the pity. The boys, particularly Sirius, ran the poor fellow ragged with their behaviour, disregarding the cruelty of their actions with the nonchalance of children. Suffice to say, Sirius didn't actually spend a lot of time in the house. Regulus didn't come with Sirius on his escapades often, he wasn't as daring as his older brother, nor was he particularly welcome. Younger sibling's are never invited anywhere, or tolerated.

So, by the age of nine, Sirius could quite successfully negotiate his way around Paris or, at least, the small part of Paris that surrounded his home. His parents would have been surprised at his grasp of the language and, no doubt, outraged at some of the vocabulary he'd picked up on his wanderings if they'd ever bothered talking to him.

That summer Sirius would undertake perhaps the strangest of his explorations in the city.

It was dark outside, and Sirius' mother and brother asleep, when his father announced that he was going out for the evening.

"I'm going to meet some associates." He told the House Elf. "Tell my wife, if she asks after me, that I do not expect to be back before morning." Sirius hid in the shadow on the stairs, listening. He wondered why his father always left messages for his mother rather than telling her himself.

"Shall I tell the Mistress where you are going, Master?" The Elf quavered.

"No." Mr. Black snapped and left abruptly. Sirius crept to the window and watched as his father's carriage pulled away. His dark brows contracted,_ that's strange_, he thought. Instead of the large carriage with the family crest he'd arranged for a small, undistinguished, taxi carriage. Sirius had grown extremely bored of reading the improving book that had been supplied earlier that evening and decided instead to go for an adventure.

Swiftly, he crept back upstairs and grabbed a cloak and the broom he'd learnt to ride earlier that year. He opened his bedroom window and slipped onto his broom. Luckily, traffic was busy this time of night and his father's carriage, remarkable to the boy by the dappled horse alone, was stuck at the main intersection. It pulled out and Sirius followed. He flew high so that he wouldn't be noticed by his father but stayed close enough not to lose him. The carriage turned off of the main road and continued in this vein, twisting and turning through a warren of streets, getting further and further away from anything familiar to him. He had been following the carriage for at least three quarters of an hour when it began to rain. He shivered and pulled his cloak about himself tightly, wishing he knew his way home. Now he had no choice but to keep trailing his father. It was at times like these that the boy began to doubt the brilliance of his plans. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity the carriage came to a stop at the entrance to an alley. Sirius backed his broom behind the nearest corner and watched from there as his father descended and stepped into the alleyway.

"Where is he going?" He muttered and dismounted his broom. He waited until the carriage left, resisting the very strong urge to follow it out of the labyrinth, and scuttled into the alleyway after his father.

He wasn't there. Nobody was there. There was only the rubbish bins full of rotting cabbage leaves and soggy cardboard boxes. On the grimy wall at the end of the alley lay a door. The door itself was unremarkable. It was of the normal dimensions, made of wood which was undecorated save for the knots spotting it like a leopard and the crude graffiti. Yet, for the curiosity it aroused in Sirius it may as well have been woven from starlight. _I'm going to meet some associates_, his father's words ran through his head. Associates? In a place like this? Mr. Black would never voluntarily step foot in a place like this. Sirius could find only one explanation for it: his father must be in trouble. He itched to know what kind. He pressed an ear to the door but could hear no sound from the other side. Praying that no one was on the other side waiting to nab him, he cautiously pushed open the door and stepped in.

_Sweet Merlin..._

Whatever he'd expected on the inside, it certainly hadn't been this. He was standing in a softly lit and extraordinarily massive foyer, lavishly decorated with rich fabric and gilt. Mindful of his father's presence he softly crept closer to the walls to peer at the artworks. _That doesn't look like any of the ancient sports _I've_ read about, _he mused looking at a Grecian vase. _Wrestling?_ He leaned in closer. Thump. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Gasping, Sirius found himself whirled around to face a massive and incredibly ugly man.

"What do you think you are doing, boy?" His captor snarled.

"I...I..." In his fright Sirius couldn't remember his French.

"No excuses!" The man snapped and pushed him towards a large curtain. "The piece's about to start. You wait until I tell the boss about this, kid."

"Maurice," a soft voice interjected from up above, "let him go." Sirius' head snapped up and saw a figure leaning upon the second floor balcony. In the darkness only his hands were visible. A child's hands, Sirius thought.

"What? Lycan, I don't care if he's your little friend! He's not pulling his weight. He has to be on stage in five."

"He's not my little friend." The boy, Lycan, replied. "I've never met him before. He's not one of ours."

"Well he's not another street rat from the look of him." Maurice took a closer look, clearly not impressed. Sirius finally found his tongue.

"I'm Sam. Sam Middleton." He didn't talk to the man holding him but to the boy upstairs, he seemed to hold the authority. "I'm on holiday with my parents but I lost my way."

"Really? Where are you staying? At a hotel?"

"Yes."

"The Wizard's Welcome?"

"Nah, that closed down months ago." Sirius answered unthinkingly, swallowing when he realised his mistake. He could hear the amusement in the other boy's voice.

"So it did." This Lycan really did have a wonderful voice, smooth and sweet and not entirely childlike. "Well, 'Sam Middleton', has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like your father?"

"Shit."

"Even though you certainly don't talk like him." Sirius wondered despite himself whether Lycan always talked so formally.

"Lycan, you'd better get going." The big man cut in, Sirius had completely forgotten him. Lycan sighed.

"Thank you, Maurice." The hands disappeared and Sirius flung out an arm.

"Wait!" He could make out Lycan's figure pausing in the darkness. "I ahh..."

"You really are lost, aren't you?" He nodded his head dumbly he'd never felt like such an idiot before. "Maurice, could you get take Mr. Black's son back to his house?"

"What?" The bouncer exclaimed. "Let Black's brat find his own way home!" He glared at Sirius. "He found his way here, no trouble. Just like Papa, eh?" Sirius glowered back. He didn't entirely understand what Maurice had meant by that but it still angered him, he didn't like being compared to anybody, least of all his father. He'd had enough of that for today from Lycan. Before he could answer and, undoubtedly, inflame the situation Lycan snorted.

"He can hardly be blamed for his parents, can he? It's not like any of us had any worth mentioning." He addresses Sirius thoughtfully "You're not at all like your father, are you?" He didn't pause for Sirius to answer. "Just take him home, Maurice, I'll owe you a favour." Sirius felt, rather than saw, him leave.

"Fine." Maurice growled at the empty darkness. "Come on." He stomped through a different curtain and hovered his hand above a large statue, motioning for Sirius to copy.

"Is it a port key?" Maurice grunted assent. "Where to?"

"Magi square. Ready?" Sirius nodded.

"Go." They touched the statue. Sirius felt himself being roughly pulled and pushed and twisted all at the same time then,just as suddenly, it stopped and he was standing somewhat shakily in the square clutching his broom.

"Can you find your way from here?" Maurice snapped grumpily. Sirius nodded. "Good. Now, listen close, if I ever catch you at the Honeytrap underage again I'll wring your posh neck, understand?" He disappeared without waiting for an answer.

"Well, ta very much, Knob Head." Sirius muttered and mounted his broom, keen to get back to his room out of the rain. Still, as he lay in his bed that night, all he could think of was that boy's wry voice. _Your not at all like you're father, are you? _"No," he whispered, "I'm not."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: A Matter of Worth.

Yay, for days off!It's tragic - ever since I changed cities and jobs I never have time when I'm not too busy to actually do anything apart from work, travel, clean, do chores or go to parties! ... Okay, so the last one is not such a tragedy. Sigh, being a social butterfly is wonderful fun but very tiring! So, finally I have some down time to do some writing when not hungover whilst still in the remainders of yet another (sexy but oh so unattainable ;)) costume or zombie-ing out from work.

Rant on, party girl, rant on.

B.T.W. The characters are actually speaking in French but as my French is absolutely appalling I'll stick to writing it in English.

"Lycan?" The boy turned to the waitress addressing him.

"Yes?"

"Monsieur Dupres wants to see you." He blinked and glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Now?" She nodded.

"He said not to worry about the show. He'll take care of any complaints later on." He sighed and nodded,vaguely irritatedthat his boss hadn't mentioned this _before_ he'd gotten ready for the show. It took him quite some time to get a nice even spread with the body shimmer after all.

"Okay. Thank you, Evie." She smiled and continued down the hallway balancing her tray of dirty dishes. The boy turned and headed back to the staircase which he'd just descended. He climbed up to the top floor where Anton's office was located, thankful that he was well recovered from the last full moon or the journey would have been too arduous for him. He reached the office and knocked, awaiting permission. Anton was a stickler for good manners and the boy had soaked them up from his employer as if by osmosis.

"Enter." He entered shutting the door behind him with an almost inaudible click and crossed to stand in front of the desk. "Hello, Remus." Anton's smile was troubled.

"Good evening, Anton." Anton's smile eased a little.

"Always so polite, my little love." Remus smiled back.

"You raised me well." Here Anton's smile faltered a tad.

"Oh, I raised you well. I raised you very well. You are the undisputed star of the most diverse brothel in the whole of Europe." He snorted. "Parents are virtually queuing at my door to learn the proper method to raise upstanding young men." Remus frowned. He'd never heard Anton talk like this. He bit his bottom lip, unsure, perhaps his 'foster father' regretted taking him in. he wracked his brains trying to think of anything that he could've done to displease him.

"Is there a problem, Papa?" Anton's head swivelled at that. It had started as a joke between them some years ago. Papa Anton and his little cub. Remus only called him that very occasionally, usually when he was either extremely happy or distressed or when he was trying to comfort Anton. "Is it my scars? I'll start using a concealing charm if you want."

"No, Remus. It's not your scars." He got up and crossed over to embrace the boy lightly. "Most people are completely in love with your scars, you know." He laughed at Remus' scowl of disbelief. "It's true! They're part of your appeal."

"So, what is the problem?" Remus mumbled, his voice slightly muffled against Anton's side. The man sighed and lead the boy with him as he sat on his chair once again, pulling the slightly built boy onto his lap.

"No problem, Remy. I have had a rather unusual request for you." Remus shifted so he was more comfortably arranged.

"What kind of request, Anton?"

"This client has requested your company for the whole evening." He watched the boy's eyes widen.

"The whole evening?" He breathed.

"That's right."

"But, that's... I mean..." he stuttered before pulling himself together, looking accusingly at his employer. "You aren't giving him a discount are you?" Anton couldn't help it. The boy's disapproving and scandalised tone undid him. He burst out laughing and laughed all the harder when Remus scrambled off of his lap to avoid being joggled about.

"No, Remy dear." He chortled. " I am not giving him a discount."

"My god! The fool must have more money than sense to pay that much." If there was anything that annoyed the usually unflappable boy it was people stupidly wasting money. Unlike most people on this earth Remus knew his worth right down to the last cent. He could probably even tell you his value in the different units of currency. Not that it mattered, however you were paying one thing was certain:Lycan's time didn't come cheaply. "I hope you charged him extra."

"I didn't charge him at all." Anton admitted quietly. Remus blinked and froze.

"Pardon?" He whispered.

"I'm not charging him anything." The boy didn't respond but swallowed, eyes darting away. "He is a good man, Remus. A_ good_ man. I owe him a lot."

"That's obvious." Remus shot back, a little surprised at himself. "What does he want to do with me that's going to take all night? Some complicated game?"

"Remy.."

"Does he want naughty, naïve, shy, or dangerous werewolf Lycan?" He glared and Anton could see the amber of his irises shifting to gold as they had the first time they'd met. "Who shall I be for him, Sir? Why not all of them? It's on the house after all!" He stopped suddenly as if frightened by his outburst and looked away his fists clenched so tightly they shook. "Is that all I'm worth to you, Papa?" Anton flinched. He'd never seen his protege so emotional before. Never seen the child's insecurities. Remus was so mature, so incredibly _sharp _that the man forgot that his boy was only eleven. At least they thought so. Remus had not known his own name, let alone his age, when he'd taken him in.

"Remus, little love, you are the only thing of any_ real_ value in my life."No response."I haven't explained this very well." He cleared his throat. "He just wants to talk to you. Nothing more, I swear. I'd never treat you with such disregard. You should know that by now."

"He wants to talk all night?" Remus asked hesitantly.

"No. He wants to talk to you for as long as it takes and then you are to have the evening off to yourself." Remus wondered what 'it' was. Anton saw the boy's dubious mien and tried again. "He has come a long way to see you, Remus. _You_, not 'Lycan'. I suspect that he'd be really, _really_ annoyed if you suggested he even thought of boys like that." He could see the conflict between curiosity and displeasure on Remus' face. He pushed a little further. "He has a proposal for you, Remus." Curiosity won.

"What kind of proposal?" Anton smiled and reached out to take his small hands.

"One that makes me sad but very proud and one which will most certainly be_ very_ bad for business."

"Oh." Confusion and a hint of irritation. Remus disliked being confused. "If it's bad for business, Anton, then why are you letting him talk to me?"

"Because you deserve to have a chance. Same as everyone else." He paused. "_More_ than everyone else." He corrected.

"What..."

"No. I won't say any more it is for Dumbledore to put to you, not me." Remus shifted nervously, all of a sudden looking like the child he really was.

"Where is he?"

"In the library." Remus' lips quirked at that.

"How civilised."

"Go on." Anton urged, ushering the boy out of the room and closing the door. He had not even reached his desk when the door reopened. He didn't look up from his accounts. "Yes, Remus?"

"Should I bathe and change first?" Anton surveyed the boy. He was mostly unclothed save for what Anton thought of as a 'slave' skirt of plain white linen and a golden anklet with two delicate bells attached. Both of his tiny wrists were adorned by tight fitting golden cuffs. They had been a gift from Anton and he never took them off. He knew the boy was particularly sensitive about the horrific scar on his wrist from when he'd almost gnawed it off as the wolf. His lips were coated in a shiny gloss making them appear wet and kissable. He wore the faintest trace of brown eye liner drawing attention to his amazing eyes. His lithe naked limbs and torso were covered with a hint of golden shimmer. His scars, pale slashes on his tanned skin were jarring against Remus' otherwise faultless beauty but they were an exciting sign of his dual nature. The face of an angel harbouring a dark beast within. He did not need the extravagant jewellery, make up and costuming that many of the others relied on. He was breathtaking in his simplicity. What would the old wizard make of him?

"Are you ashamed?" Remus seemed surprised at the question.

"No." He'd never been ashamed before. Nudity was par for the course in the Honey Trap. "I just thought that as he only wants to talk then perhaps he'd be uncomfortable with it." Anton mulled it over quietly.

"No. Go as you are. Let him see what he's taking on. And Remus?" He called as he began to withdraw his head. "Just be yourself." The boy nodded and left silently closing the door once more.

He moved down the hallway pondering which 'himself' that was supposed to be exactly.


	7. Chapter 7

Remus knocked upon the door and fussed with his hair as was his habit before meeting a client for the first time.

"Come in." The man, Dumbledore, called from within. French with an English accent. Not unusual a great deal of the customers to the Honey Trapcame from across the channel. He entered, outwardly mastering his trepidation. _How strange_, he thought,_ I do this most nights easy as you please to entertain and pleasure and yet when it comes to really "talking" I get as nervy a drug freak in need of a fix!_ He could make out the figure of a man sitting in one of the deep chairs by the fireside, his face obscured by the chairs wings.He softly made his way over, making no sound as he moved save for the jingle of his bells. That was the main reason he wore them. His ability to walk without audible footfalls unnerved many of his clients. "Ah, Mr. Lupin. A pleasure to meet you finally." Remus started a little at the use of his 'real' name. Dumbledore noticed. "I apologise. That was presumptuous of me. Would you prefer it if I called you Lycan?"

"No, Sir. I do not mind." He replied in smooth English. "Normally I would but this isn't 'normally' is it?" the man, an elderly one if his voice was anything to go by, laughed quietly as if pleased by the answer.

"No, it isn't. I can't say I've ever visited a brothel before. No," he continued noting Remus' questioning smile, 'not even in my youth. The world is full of people who do not go to brothels. There are people who, strange though this may seem to you, do not even know that such places exist." Remus began to speak but forced himself to silence. "What were you going to say, my boy? Do not be afraid to offend, I am too old to care if the young mock me any more." Remus could hear the smile in his voice.

"I was just going to say that this brothel_ is_ my world. I know very little of anything beyond my neighbourhood. As far as I am aware it may not exist at all."

"Ah yes, irony. How wonderful." He paused and Remus wondered whether he was expecting him to comment. "Do sit down, Mr. Lupin." Remus slid gracefully into the chair opposite the old man. Suddenly he could see him clearly. He was a thin old man with long grey hair and a beard to match. He wore half moon glasses perched on his nose and dressed in rich, old fashioned robes. "That's better, isn't it? Now let's have a proper look at you." He surveyed Remus for a quiet moment. The boy was unperturbed. He was used to men ogling him. He'd been trained to encourage it skilfully from a very young age. Dumbledore's gaze was different from that of his usual type of client. He looked him over critically as a doctor might. "I didn't know quite what to expect from you, Mr. Lupin. I was contemplating coming here discreetly last night to watch you performing but I thought better of it."

"Why was that?"

"I wanted to meet the boy 'Remus' not the character 'Lycan'." Remus smiled a little uncertainly.

"How do you know my real name, Sir? We are so careful that clients don't learn our true names."

Dumbledore smiled.

"Very wise I'm sure. Well, Mr. Lupin, it's quite simple. When you were born your parents put your name down onour list. Remus frowned slightly. Dumbledore stopped him with a raised finger and continued. "It's a very clever list. Your name and address can change and the list adapts with it. In your case it was a little more difficult to trace you as not only did you no longer go by your birth name but you went by two new names. Your 'real' name and your 'stage' name. You caused a bit of a headache to be perfectly honest." Remus, already on edge since entering the room,was now getting extremelynervous. This man claimed to know about his parents and his own birth which would suggest that he knew more about Remus' past than anyone else, including Remus himself. Not only thatbut now he was on some strange list as well. The only list Remus recalled ever being on was at the Werewolf Institute. As always when nervous the wolf in him began to panic and look for a way out. Fight or Flight. He began to growl softly, his body tensed, ready to spring at a moment's notice. Was this man one of the mediwizards from the Institute? Had he blackmailed Anton into turning him over? "I'm not going to hurt you, Remus. Or take you anywhere against your wishes." It was if he could read his mind!

"You're one of them aren't you? From the Institute. Tracked me down at last. I bet you're ecstatic." He snarled and bared his teeth, the instinct to attack or flee swelling sickeningly inside.

"No, Remus. I'm not." The old wizard had such a perfect façade of compassion that Remus wanted to spit in those fraudulent blue eyes. "I'm from a wizarding school. Hogwarts. Perhaps you've heard of it?" Remus' eyes widened in disbelief. How dare he? How_ dare_ he! He couldn't believe the man's gall to try and use Hogwarts as a cover. How did he know how Remus longed to go to a prestigious school like Beauxbatons or Hogwarts? Did Anton tell him that too? He'd never been so afraid or so livid in his life.

"Don't lie you old bastard!" He spat. "I'm not stupid. I may be a monster to you but I'm not _stupid_!"

"No you're not Mr. Lupin." The old man advanced hands held loosely away from his body. He'd left his wand on the table in full view. That didn't fool Remus. He probably had another hidden away. "Not stupid. From what I've heard from those who work with you and the people in the area you are aremarkably intelligent young man. A genius, I've been told. I can't tell that from one conversation but from what I can see for myself there's an extremely clever young boy hiding somewhere behind those insecurities." Remus backed towards the window. Not the door. If Anton had set him up then it would be guarded. So would the window come to think of it but he wasn't planning on dropping to the ground. No one could climb and hide about those roofs like a desperate street rat. "And you certainly aren't a monster, Remus. Monstrous things have been done to you everywhere you may have turned, but," his voice dropped to a low emphatic whisper, "you aren't the monster." Remus hesitated. He so wanted to believe him. "You aren't the monster. Fear, Mr. Lupin,_ fear_ is the monster."

"Fear?" Remus whispered soundlessly his back to the large window, white knuckles gripping the sill. Dumbledore crossed to the fireside and sat back in his chair as if the matter were decided. I believe in this library there's a book entitled _Hogwarts: A History._ Is that so?" Remus nodded stiffly unsure of where this was going. "Please go grab it and turn to page 478." Remus did so skirting along the walls, staying as far away from Dumbledore as possible. He knew where the book was he'd started reading it last month. A few pages whenever he had the time. He hadn't reached the 400's yet though. He pulled the large book from the shelf and flicked his way to the page he wanted. He stared. A full page photograph of Dumbledore twinkled back at him. He appeared very amused at Remus' expression. "Read aloud please, Mr. Lupin." Dumbledore called pouring himself a generous brandy. Remus cleared his throat.

"Albus Dumbledore: Headmaster of Hogwarts, 1964 to present."

"Quite. Now," Dumbledore approached him holding out a smaller brandy, "drink that. It'll help your nerves." Remus took the proffered glass and sniffed it his nose wrinkled in disgust but he threw it back and swallowed it in one gulp.

"Merde!" He gasped, coughing and spluttering. He gaped at Dumbledore. "That's supposed to help?" The wizard laughed.

"Strange but true. Come, sit down." He lead the now meek and confused Remus back to his chair.

"Oh, and Mr. Lupin?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"French is such a beautiful language. Don't let me hear you abusing it like that again." He nodded, ashamed. He never cursed but it had been a trying evening. "If you feel the need to curse do it in English. It's less beautiful and much more inventive." Remus wasn't sure if it was the brandy or the actual man himself, but Dumbledore was very strange. He smelt strange too. Like smoke and lemon drops and some animal Remus couldn't pinpoint. He must keep oddpets. He looked up to see Dumbledore watching him.

"You want me to swear in English?" He said slowly, thinking it over.

"If you must swear at all, my boy." Remus leaned back rubbing his face.

"I don't think I know any English swearwords." He muttered wearily.

"I shouldn't worry about that. I'm sure you'll pick them up fast enough from your classmates and visa versa. Cultural exchange and whatnot."

"School?" Dumbledore smiled crookedly and passed him an envelope sealed with a large crest in green wax. He opened it carefully trying his best to keep the wax intact. He liked to do small things like that. It wasn't often he got mail so he always saved his letters and tried not to destroy them in the opening. It read:

_Mr. Lupin,_

_we are pleased to announce that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of the supplies you will need to purchase in preparation for the school year..._

Remus read through the letter avidly and in utter silence. When he was finished he folded it neatly and set it on the table. Then calmly, as if he had not contemplatedharing offacross the Parisian skyline only moments before, he turned to his visitor."How is this possible, Headmaster?"

"Your mother was English, Remus. Your parents chose Hogwarts over Beauxbatons, you have been on our list for eleven years." It was a strange thing to laugh at but all of a sudden Remus felt rather elated.

"So I _am_ eleven this year after all!"

"Yes, Remus. You were born on the 10th of March." His eyes betrayed no hint of how he felt but inside the Headmaster felt a heavy sadness at such a small thing. How sad it was that the child hadn't even known his own age.

"No, but, Sir, how can I go to school? A real school? It's too dangerous. What will I do for my transformations?" The smile had left his face and he fingered the parchment on the table with one long nervous digit. Dumbledore leaned forwards and patted Remus' bare knee.

"We have taken that into consideration. The safety of our students is our priority. _All_ our students, Mr. Lupin. Would you like to learn at Hogwarts, do you think?"

"Is it really possible?" He tried to keep the eagerness from spilling out rather unsuccessfully. The elderly wizard leaned back, clasping his brandy and spoke almost exactly the same words as Anton had earlier put to him.

"You deserve this chance, Mr. Lupin. Take it, it's yours."

Remus' answering smile could have put the sun to shame.


	8. Acceptance

A/N: Will tr to get the next chapter done over the weekend. No promises though! Am Very Busy doing Important Drinking. Both Friday and Saturday. Will be hungover all to Hell on Sunday but will try to squeeze it in.

Acceptance

"Headmaster, I know you said that you wanted no more discussion on this topic but really, I can't agree with you on this." Dumbledore looked across the desk at the young witch frowning determinedly at him.

"Minerva, your perseverance is admirable but I've made my decision. Young Mr. Lupin will attend this school and be treated with the same respect and care as any other student here. Your objections and those of the other teachers have been noted in your records."

"Dammit, Albus!"It was uncharacteristic of her to curse, especially in front of her headmaster, a sure sign she was anxious."I'm not worried about my career, my concern is for the other children." Dumbledore smiled at her with something akin to pride.

"And it does you credit. You are a fine and able teacher." Professor McGonagall frowned harder if that was at all possible.

"Flattery won't change my mind, Headmaster."

"It wasn't meant to." He tapped one long thin finger against the desktop as he made his point. "You are an exceptional teacher and Mr. Lupin, by all accounts, is remarkably clever, mature and considerate young man."

"Oh, _very_ mature I should imagine." McGonagall snorted. "But even if you put aside his 'occupation' he's still a werewolf! The fact that he's clever as well only makes him more dangerous."

"He's _different_, Minerva. We tested him, pushed him, you saw the results. His control is astounding. Do you need to read the report again?" The witch sighed and sat herself down at last.

"No, Albus, I don't. I read it very thoroughly as you well know, I know how strong his control is but I'm still not convinced." He let silence reign for a moment before speaking once more, almost contemplatively.

"Hogwarts is not just a place where we teach the young. It's a place where we shape destinies, build new horizons. A school should be more than a centre of learning it should be a sanctuary for those who need one and we should be their guides. Mr. Lupin has had one of the worst starts in life possible but he's refused to let it destroy him. _Yet_." He fixed her with a pointed stare. "I see wonderful potential there _if_ someone steps in and gives him the start in life a child deserves." His gaze softened. "The boy wants to learn, Minerva, how rare a thing is that for a teacher to throw away?" She sighed again, this time in defeat.

"God knows what filthy habits he'll bring with him." She muttered. Professor McGonagall crossed her arms and laid down her terms."If I think he's introducing anything he learnt at that brothel then I'll take so many house points off of him that he'll have to bend over backwards just to bring them back to zero!"

"Naturally." Dumbledore murmured. "Though, I believe you'll find he's a very respectable young lad despite his upbringing."

"And what are we going to do about the full moon?" She cried to herself, not even registering the Headmaster's last comment.

"I've got it all taken care of. Minerva..."

"Then there's the issue of secrecy. We've got to be able to hide his condition from the other students."

"Minerva..."

"What about his history? We'll have to invent a convincing life history for him as well!"

"Professor!" Dumbledore raised his voice. She jumped.

"I...oh. I apologise." She said stiffly and sniffed. "I'm just a little nervous about the whole affair."

"If you think you're worried imagine how, Mr. Lupin must be feeling." She looked down at her hands and nodded. "Besides, I'd say Remus Lupin is the last new entrant you should be worrying about." She looked up warily.

"What do you mean by that, Albus?" He didn't smile but his eyes flashed with secret amusement.

"The Black's eldest son will be starting this year as well." Her face froze.

"Sirius Black is coming to Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"Didn't he set Ambrose Malfoy's robes alight when he was five?"

"No." She began to breath a sigh of relief. "That was when he was three. When he was five he unlocked the dragon's cage at the Romanian Wizard's Exposition and let it loose in the Ministry."

"Oh. I see." She cleared her throat and stood, straightening her robes.

"Will there be anything else, Professor?" He asked her as he moved to open the door.

"Yes. Do you accept oral resignations or only written ones?"


	9. Beginnings

Remus leant his forehead against the cold glass of the window pane. It was raining outside and the water ran in thin rivulets down the glass; his warm breath fogged the window with each huff as he watched the goings on of the station outside of his compartment. It was eight in the morning and the train wasn't due to leave for hours yet but it was amazing how much activity the preparation for one journey could create. He'd come to England two days ago with a minder Dumbledore had supplied. It had been decided by all that it would be best if Anton remained in France. Remus would very much have liked it if Anton could've come with him to see him off at the station like everyone else's parents but he could appreciate how foolish it would be to connect himself publicly with Anton. His boss was not unknown in London, nor was he unknown to a number of the more influential Hogwarts family. Nor was Remus, come to that, but he'd arrived early and settled into one of the compartments well out of the scrutiny of the adults who would be arriving in a matter of hours. His minder had been a sour, uncommunicative squib with a cockney accent so thick that Remus was hard pushed to fully understand him. He'd become very cross at Remus for this but as far as Remus was concerned if the man wouldn't even attempt to speak proper English than he wasn't going to bother himself attempting to translate his insults.

As if in compensation for his absence Anton had taken time off of work to take Remus around the best wizarding suppliers in Paris. He'd insisted that Remus have only French workmanship of the best quality. Dumbledore had argued against this, reasoning that expensive equipment would go against the life history they'd agreed upon but Anton had bought them anyway.

"Tell anyone who questions it that the orphanage's benefactors pooled their resources. Wouldn't have one of their wards go to England with shoddy equipment." He'd advised Remus with a wink, handing him his exquisite new wand. The boy had laughed, accepting the wand.

"You're having far too much fun with this 'orphanage' idea!"

"And why not? The more you build up your background the more real it becomes."

Remus sighed and pulled out his book. He wished his minder hadn't dropped him off quite so early but the man had to get to work. At least he hadn't made him find his own way. He had taken _Hogwarts: A History _with him and was almost finished it. It was an absolutely massive book but there was a lot of interesting tidbits in it. He curled up and resolved to spend the next few hours finishing it.

For a long while there was no sound except the steady hiss of the rain, the pages of his book being turned and the calls of the station guards outside nor was there anything to disturb Remus bar the comings and goings of the station guards along the aisle outside his compartment.

He was about to begin the very last chapter when the first students began to arrive. As the minutes ticked by the stream of new arrivals increased. All older students so far, disinterested in first years, determined to wait for their own circles of friends, already formed and complete. This didn't concern Remus as he was of a solitary character by nature and had been cautioned by both Dumbledore and Anton to take care in his interactions with the other students. Be courteous and friendly without inviting friendship. Have acquaintances not comrades. Again, this was no hardship for him. He'd never had any particular friends at the Honey Trap though he'd been well-liked and welcome with all of the cliches within it's walls. Besides, it was the only way to ensure that his secret,_ both_ secrets, would remain undiscovered.

Suddenly the door to his compartment was pushed aside with a bang and a boy entered throwing his bag onto the rack above Remus's head. A golden ball fell out of a side pocket at the rough treatment and Remus, somewhat ruffled, caught it on reflex at shoulder height.

"Nice catch!" The boy exploded as if it was the most impressive thing he'd ever seen. "Damn, that was fast!" He stared at Remus as if he'd grown wings.

"Err, thanks?" He hazarded, not quite sure how to respond to such enthusiasm.

"How'd you do that?"

"Umm..well..I guess it was because I wasn't thinking about it." The other boy wrinkled his nose and pushed up his glasses with a scabbed knuckle.

"Eh?"

"Well, I find that when you're not really concentrating on actually doing something you do it much better than when you _are_ concentrating on it, don't you think so?" The other boy blinked his bright hazel eyes.

"Yeah, I guess." He threw himself onto the seat opposite Remus. He wasn't much bigger than Remus; small of stature like him but strongly built. He had ink-black hair that shot off in all directions and more scabs and bruises than Remus had ever seen on another person. He gestured his hand to the ball in Remus' hand. "Toss us that here." Remus silently passed the ball across the compartment. The other boy rolled his eyes. "What part of 'toss' don't you understand?" When Remus didn't reply he yawned loudly and, Remus privately thought, rather exaggeratedly. "Merlin's balls, I hate mornings! I don't really get started 'till after lunch."

"Is that so?" Remus murmured, silently noting to himself to stay _well_ clear of this boy at his peak hour. The boy frowned.

"Who speaks like that?" Remus blinked.

"I beg your pardon?" The dark haired boy threw himself forwards, pointing at him.

"That! Who speaks like that!"

"Ah..I do. Don't you?" His companion snorted.

"No, I bloody don't."

"This_ is _England, isn't it?"

"Of course it is. Why d'ya ask?" Remus sighed.

"I spend _years _perfecting my English, getting every little article _exactly_ where it belongs and the peculiar thing is that, when I finally get to England, I find I'm the only one speaking the language!" The bespectacled boy sat silent for the space of a heartbeat before bursting out with a roar of laughter.

"Brilliant!" He gasped. "You poor sod!" Remus frowned slightly.

"Sod?" This brought forth another gale of laughter from the boy.

"Oh, it's going to be _so_ much fun corrupting your English, my man." Remus felt a smile crawl uncontrollably over his face at his companion's mirth. It was not long before he was laughing along with the boy. It was some minutes before they stopped, still hiccuping with boyish giggles. "What's your name, then?" the boy asked.

"Oh!" Remus slapped a hand to his mouth. "I forgot!" The boy opposite snorted another laugh.

"You forgot your name?"

"Oh, be quiet! I meant I forgot to introduce myself."

"Shut up."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't say 'be quiet' to your friends. Say 'shut up.'"

"Shut up, then."

"Right. And..."

"Oh! I'm Remus Lupin. And who might you be?"

"You mean you don't know?" The other boy gasped. "I, dear Remus, am the great and all-knowing James Potter."

"Oh." Remus chuckled, shaking his hand. "In that case, I'm honoured."

"Damn right, you are." The two boys sat chatting and getting to know each other for a while. Remus was very impressed by James' extensive knowledge of swearing and James was very happy to find that his new friend was French. He'd never really known a French person before and while he thought it was 'cool' he complained about Remus's accent.

"What's the matter with my accent? Is it too strong?"

"I wish!" James laughed. "It'd be really cool if it was but you haven't _got_ much of one." Remus rubbed his wrists, a gesture James would eventually come to recognise as a sign of his frustration.

"Well, that's good. Isn't it?"

"Yeah, I suppose. I mean, you've got one, but... look, it's like this: foreign students _have_ to have accents thick enough to cut with a knife. You know?" Remus shook his head. "It's, well, it's expected. It's their thing. Get it?" Remus shrugged.

"I guess. But, technically speaking, I'm only half foreigner. My mother was English."

"Oh." James sniffed speculatively. "That's alright then. Eventually their talk turned to school and they were just discussing the merits of the different houses when their conversation was interrupted by the door to their compartment sliding open. Both boys looked up. Remus' eyes widened but he took a breath and schooled his reaction. He knew this boy. He'd grown in the few years since they had encountered one another. He'd be tall like his father but probably not as stocky, a voice in his head whispered. Dark grey eyes locked briefly with his and an elegant hand absently pushed an errant strand of silky black hair away from his face.

Sirius Black.

Did he recognise him? No. it was impossible, he'd been in the shadows. Hadn't he? His heart fluttered against his chest like a great bird beating it's wings in a rickety cage._ Why is he looking at me like that, then?_ _He must know!_ His hands began to prickle. Fight or flight. Then Sirius smiled hesitantly.

"Hello." He cleared his throat. "Do you mind if I sit with you? You sounded like you were having fun in here." He addressed this to Remus. That hesitant smile was irresistible and he found himself answering in kind, relieved at the young Black's awkwardness. There was no recognition there.

"Please, join us." Sirius' smile widened.

"You're French?" Remus' own smile mimicked Sirius' much to his embarrassment.

"Oui."

"Ah, great! I used to spend summers in France but my parents sold our house there."

"Oh, really?"

"Umm, hello?"James ventured unheeded.

"Yeah." Sirius sat smoothly down in the seat beside Remus leaning towards him as he talked. "It's a pain in the arse. Now we have to go to Berlin instead. Apparently Berlin is the new Paris.

"Do tell." James muttered dryly.

"Meanwhile, my French is going to pot." Sirius continued, oblivious to James' increasing irritation.

Oblivious, in fact, to James in his entirety.

"So you want me to teach you French?" Remus hazarded.

"No!" Sirius waved off the suggestion imperiously. "I already speak French. I just want you to keep me sharp." He lay his hand on Remus' knee as he made his point. Remus tried to listen the internal voice screaming at him _Stay away! Don't get involved with Mr. Black's son!_ But those eyes were locked with his own and he found himself smiling and assenting before he could stop himself. "Beautiful." Sirius nodded and extended his hand. "I'm Sirius Black, by the way, it's a pleasure." Remus took the proffered hand.

"Remus Lupin. The pleasure's all mine." The two boys found themselves smiling again at each other again and not quite knowing why.

"Oi!" James finally got their attention. "I don't care what you're name is. You've got 'rude git' written all over you." He gestured his head roughly at the door. "Go on, piss off!"

"James..." Remus began warningly as Sirius' face went pale with anger. He leapt up and stood towering over the sitting James.

"Say that again, shit for brains. I didn't quite catch that the first time."

"Sirius, please calm down..."

"I said 'piss off''." James said cockily with a false grin. "All that inbreeding must have damaged your brain."

"James!"

"You little prat!" Sirius hissed.

"Maybe." James replied brightly. "But at least I'm not some psycho pyromaniac!" Sirius' fists were white and shaking.

"Shut up!" James had no intention of doing so.

"Hey, Remus? D'ya know what we've got here? Let me tell you a little about this specimen. Black here is infamous, he is. He.." Whatever it was he'd done Remus never found out because Sirius drove one of those clenched fists square into James' grinning face. For a moment things were frozen in a horrified tableau as they took it in. Then, suddenly, the moment was shattered as James threw himself at Sirius with a scream of outrage and a full out fist fight ensued. Sirius having a younger sibling and therefore experience in such matters seemed to have the advantage of greater technique. James, meanwhile, Remus mused to himself as he watched them pummelling each other from one corner of the compartment to the next, seemed to be an entity of pure energy and, at this moment, that energy was focused on absolute rage. All in all, Remus surmised, it was quite even.

He allowed them to continue in this vein for a little while longer. Until the screams and insults diminished into breathless growls and the punches became sluggish.

"Alright, you two. That's enough." The fight continued unabated. He sighed and rose, crossing the compartment to where they were. Sirius was now attempting to strangle the shorter boy while James was fixated on pulling Sirius' hair out of his scalp. "I said," Remus began again leaning over and forcibly pulling the two off of each other, "that's enough!" He pulled James to his feet by his collar and pushed him back into his seat he propelled Sirius likewise to his own seat ignored his cry of protest. He stood in the centre and fixed both of them with a stern glare. "I don't like using force." He growled. "I don't like violence and most importantly, I don't like how my voice sounds when I get mad." He held them with his gaze for a silent beat. "Don't do it again. Okay?" There was no response from either boy. "Okay?"

"Alright, alright. I promise." Sirius muttered dabbing at his bleeding nose.

"James."

"Yeah, fine." Remus cocked his head at him warningly. "Okay, okay! Jesus." He muttered crossing his arms and looking out of the window. "Hey!" He started. "The train's moving!" Remus smiled wryly.

"We left the station about five minutes ago."

"Really?"

"Why the hell didn't you stop us five minutes ago, then?" James threw up his arms in exasperation, wincing at the pain it brought him.

"Hey, shut up!" Sirius directed at the scruffy boy. "Don't piss him off again! He's scary." He watched Remus with wary awe.

"I am not scary!" Remus cried indignantly. James scoffed.

"You bloody are."

"Am not!" James laughed.

"Alright then, everybody who's in fear for their mortal life right now raise your hand." Two hands shot swiftly into the air. Remus sighed and sat down again.

"Fine. I'm terrifying. Does this mean you have to do whatever I tell you to?" The two dark-haired boys conferred with grins.

"Ah, no. Mr. Lupin, it does not." Sirius slung an arm around his shoulders. "It simply means that you have serious issues. Deep seated issues that need to be dealt with immediately."

"That's right." James picked up. "Dealt with by the only two people as crazy as yourself."

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Remus asked unnerved. He didn't like those grins, they hinted at ... unpleasantness.

"Don't fret, Remus," Sirius' smile became even wider, if possible. "We're professionals." With that the two boys leapt simultaneously upon him and began tickling him mercilessly, ignoring his pleas for mercy.

"We're doing this to help you, Remus!" James cried over his tortured laughter.

"That's right!" Sirius laughed, tickling him cruelly under his arms."Don't fight it!" They laughed until they hadn't the breath to continue and lay curled up on the floor of the compartment as the train rocked it's way towards Hogwarts tired and content in each other's company.


	10. A Fairytale of the First Years

Alot had happened since that afternoon.

They arrived at Hogwarts, awestruck and nervous and had been accepted into the same house: Gryffindor. Each had their own private reaction to the news. For James, being accepted was a validation, something he'd never even doubted. He was confidant and proud. For Remus, his acceptance was a cocktail of welcome surprise, wry amusement and determination. He would earn it. For Sirius, it came as a shock, yes, but not a total one. Some small part of himself acknowledged it as the only possible outcome, so that, while part of him screamed at the enormity of such a betrayal something else within him fluttered and grew.

They'd been roomed together with another first-year Gryffindor: Peter Pettigrew, whom they befriended over the course of the year. There was no moment of instant bonding as there had been amongst the first three but they came to recognise his virtues (rather later than his faults) and to treasure him, insecure yet devoted, as one of them.

The boys learnt in the first years at Hogwarts, not only the prescribed curriculum, but also each other's quirks, foibles and a million other insignificant details that are only important to close friends. Only the group knew the trick to restraining and channeling Jame's boundless energy and that the scars circling the three main digits on his right hand were due to an incident with a muggle blending machine as a small boy. They could tell you that cheese after eight p.m. gave Peter nightmares and that he was terrified of confined spaces. They'd even learnt, to a certain extent, how to keep Sirius' changeable nature on a relatively stable and happy course and when it failed they knew exactly how to fix it. They'd learnt a lot about Remus too, despite his reserved character. There was a lot that only James and Peter and Sirius knew about Remus. He was a wonderful storyteller; his smooth low voice could lead you into sleep or mimic the teachers perfectly and when he sung it was as though his voice became the sun, warm, pure and beautiful, yet he refused to sing as a soloist for the choir.

It wasn't until second year that they discovered the reason for his anti-attention seeking tendencies. What they mistakenly thought was the only reason.

Remus was a werewolf. It should have frightened them but it didn't. He was _theirs. _The secret was theirs; held within the group and jealously guarded like a precious pearl.

The other boys came to attribute this as a reason for many of Remus' actions. They were right about some of them: he didn't undress in front of them or roll up his sleeves to hide his tell-tale scars and he never removed the golden cuffs at his wrists for the same reason. He admitted to them that although, as a werewolf, his vocal range and manipulation was impressive, he didn't sing to the best of his abilities in the choir because he didn't want to be singled out in anyway. He sang for them sometimes, quietly in the darkness of their dorm to help Peter sleep after a cheese-induced night terror or if he was feeling melancholy or elated himself.

Other things though, had nothing to do with his lycanthropy and everything to due with his lifestyle back in Paris.

James had thought it hilarious that an eleven year old boy could be so concerned with skincare.

Remus routinely exfoliated and moisturised and generallytook good care of his skin. This had seemed so unusual to the other's because boys just didn't _do_ that and, even though he_ was_ attractive (it gave them all a guilty thrill and a sense of relief when they confessed this mutual opinion to each other), he wasn't the type to concern himself with vanity. When Remus' lycanthropy was uncovered they could finally see a solid reason for it.

"Mate," James had reasoned to Sirius one day whilst Remus was in the bathroom, "if _your _body was as scarred as Remi's, wouldn't you want the rest of it to be as nice as possible?" From that day skincare became an issue for all of them. Remus had heard this exchange over the running water in the bathroom but did nothing to correct them. Strange to think that his lycanthropy could be convenient but he'd rather they thought that then knew that it was really justa plaything's thoroughly ingrained beauty routine.

His reticence and disinterest in discussing sex was another thing attributed wrongly to his condition. In reality, he felt no curiosity on the subject and had no personal interest in it. He knew more on the subject than they would in a lifetime. When he thought of sex he didn't feel the same furtive pleasure or confused yearnings as his peers. He felt nothing in particular. He didn't watch himself because of the conditions of his acceptance to the school; he didn't have to. Remus felt no desire. He watched his friends as they fumbled through their awkward interactions and hormonal outbursts with a sympathetic ear and fond amusement but no kindred understanding.

Sirius Black had made him blush once but he reasoned that it had been mostly from relief and curiosity. True, the boy was handsome, or, at least, would be when he matured a little, but Remus had grown up surrounded by handsome men and glamorous women. He was unaffected by mere beauty. It had no substance. It cared for no one.

Beauty, untempered, was selfish.

He had Sirius' friendship, that was a thing of true value. Some people killed themselves trying to hold beauty. They didn't understand that you couldn't possess something that had no tangibility.

He rather suspected that Sirius was one of those people.

So, when his friend's eyes lingered on him unconsciously he would find a reason to leave, smoothly and without causing offence. It was hard for him, he knew thousands of ways to encourage attraction but very few to dissuade it.

In their fourth year Sirius discovered girls and Remus, relieved, smiled inwardly. It was not so unusual for pre-teen boys to form crushes on their close male friends but now puberty had well and truly struck and Srius no longer crawled into his bed on cold nights, played with his hair or gazed at him with childish admiration.

Sometimes Remus missed that period of their friendship. Not often, though. It had been too dangerous and it had been truly painful seeing the confusion and hurt in Sirius' eyes. Sirius had been too young too understand what he had felt, too young to understand why, when he demonstrated his affection, something within the werewolf seemed to die.

A/N Just a quick note: Yes,James calls Remus "Remi" but not forthe cutesy "Remi"/ "Siri" thing. I just think that the French shortening of"Remus" probably would be something similar.Think of it with the accent. It makes sense to me anyway!


	11. Midday Discussions and Midnight Dances

"Do you ever think..." James waited for Sirius to continue, lazily twirling a piece of grass between his palms. Apparently Sirius wasn't going to be forthcoming with the rest of the question so James sighed and coaxed his friend on.

"Do I ever think what?" Sirius shook his head watching his hands as he split a blade of grass down the middle.

"Never mind; it was a stupid question."

"For fuck's sake, Padfoot, just tell me dammit!" James frenetic energy may have calmed down in the years since they'd met but he still swore as much as ever, except in front of his parents. This fact amused Sirius greatly and he'd spent quite sometime agitating James to the point of apoplexy just to see if he'd curse in front of the Potters. He hadn't and Sirius wondered where the other boy had learnt such self-restraint. He chewed at his bottom lip before committing himself to having this conversation.

"It's just, do you ever..."

"Yeah?"

"Think there's a something a bit... _off_ about Remus?" Whatever James had been expecting, it hadn't been that. He rolled himself onto his side and propped his head up with his hand to better regard his friend. Sirius hadn't looked up; he remained on his stomach playing with the grass.

It was the summer holidays before they were to enter their sixth year at Hogwarts and they were lying on the back lawn of James' family home. It was just the two of them. Peter had visited briefly but was now obliged to spend the rest of his summer in Cornwall at a family reunion. Remus, as was usual, had returned to Paris. He would occasionally come home with one of them for the first week of the holidays but would never stay longer nor come for a different week. They'd never been to visit him in France, apparently his foster father was quite sickly and didn't like other people much. Remus didn't like to leave him during the holidays.

Sirius had been at the Potter's house for the best part of the holiday. Earlier that summer Sirius had shown up on their doorstep, trunk in one hand, broomstick in the other and a half-defiant, half-pleading expression on his face. The family had gladly taken him in and although the two boys had been having a marvellous time James could tell that something was bothering his friend. He'd waited for Sirius to bring it up and now, when James had thought they'd finally talk about it, Sirius had brought up this.

"Err... off how?" he questioned cautiously. He didn't like discussing his friends behind their backs. Sirius shrugged a shoulder.

"I don't know. Just off."

"Look, the bloke's a bleeding werewolf." James pointed out, hoping to get off of the topic."Sirius, mate, of _course _he's going to be a 'bit off'."

"James," Sirius growled, chucking down his mangled grass and turning to face him, "that's not what I meant."

"Hah!" The bespectacled boy stabbed a finger in his direction. "None of this 'I don't know' rubbish. You've got something a bit more specific in mind."

"Yeah, okay." Sirius admitted. "I mean, it's just," he spread out an arm, gesturing contemplatively, "what is his problem?" James opened his mouth to answer. "Don't say 'werewolf'." The taller boy warned. James shut his mouth and gazed at him blankly for a few seconds before shaking his head in bewilderment.

"You lost me, Mate." Sirius blinked back at him.

"You honestly don't think there's anything strange about him?" James shook his head again.

"Nah, not really. It's just, you know, normal Moony stuff." Sirius nodded his head once, emphatically an hauled himself to his knees.

"That's what I'm talking about. It's not a new thing. He's_ always _been funny about it." James stared at him and thumped the ground angrily.

"You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Losing me! What's he funny about?" The usually loquacious boy seemed at a loss for words. His face was tense with the effort to find the right explanation.

"You know he never wanks?" He eventually exploded.

"What?" James grimaced. "How the hell should I know that? Why the hell would I want to?"

"Shut up, James. I'm serious."

"So am I!" Sirius stood up and brushed himself off.

"It's bloody odd." He muttered.

"Well, yeah." James shrugged awkwardly. "How do you even know?" Sirius raised an eyebrow in that 'God-you're-so-_stupid_' fashion he'd perfected in third year.

"Our bed's are besides one another."

"Doesn't mean.."

"If I can hear you and Peter going for gold from across the room then why can't I hear the bloke next to me?" James flushed scarlet as only James seemed capable of. Sirius grinned inwardly, he was so conservative sometimes.

"I can hear you too you know." He glared defensively. Sirius rewarded him with a devilishly unabashed grin and dug a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

"No shit, Prongs. Now, how about Moony? You hear him?" He paused and lit his cigarette, waiting for his answer. James wasn't stupid, he was one of the smartest students in the school. Sirius knew that he really hated discussing his friends like this and that he could be completely stubborn about not seeing something in them if he didn't want to. Sirius didn't like going behind Remus' back like this either; it felt like such a betrayal but his curiosity was driving him insane.

"I can't say as I've tried to distinguish!" The flushed boy snapped, still embarrassed.

"James, just fucking calming down, alright?" He exhaled his smoke slowly. "I don't care if you wank yourself blind, it's perfectly natural. That's my whole point." He strolled over to the nearest tree and leant against it out of the sun. James would probably burn if he didn't follow suit pretty soon but Sirius wasn't about to remind him of that fact, he wasn't his mother and it would serve him right for being so irritating.

He watched as the embarrassment and anger turned to contemplation.

"Maybe he uses a silencing charm?" Sirius shook his head.

"Nah, I can still hear him breathing." James frowned.

"You listen to him breathe?" Now it was Sirius' turn to flush.

"Don't be a prat." He snapped. "You know I don't sleep easily, I can't help but hear it." James accepted this.

"Maybe he doesn't like doing it in bed." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "You know what a neat-freak Remus is; he probably wanks in the shower." Sirius opened his mouth to disagree but stopped himself, a look of deep embarrassment crossing his face. The two friends regarded each other in uncomfortable silence for a moment before James broke it, whispering hoarsely, "Christ, you haven't been_ watching_ him have you?" The look on Sirius' face was priceless.

"No!" He yelled. "What do you think I am? The shit you come up with." James held up his hands in a placating manner.

"Alright, I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't do that to Moony, but Pads, what the hell am I supposed to think with that look on your face?"

"What look?"

"That 'Oh-shit-my-mum's-found-my-hardcore-gay-porn-collection' look." Sirius' face turned murderous.

"What gay porn?" He glared. "I don't _have_ gay porn."

"Shit, Padfoot. It was just an example. A really,_ really_ embarrassing example." Sirius nodded curtly and James sighed again, he was thoroughly tired of this. "Can we just forget this whole conversation?" Sirius' head shot up, partially obscured by his dark hair.

"No."

"It's.." Sirius took one last drag and stubbed his cigarette out against the tree trunk where a mass of similar markings attested to the regularity of his habit.

"No."

"Fine." James conceded with a smirk. "Then you won't mind telling me exactly how you know that Remus doesn't wank elsewhere." Sirius faltered, unsure. James grinned. "Aright then." He pushed himself off of the ground and headed towards the house. "See you."

"Fine!" Sirius growled again. James couldn't help but notice how often he'd been doing that since they'd accomplished the Animagus spell. "But you can't tell anybody. Ever." James snorted.

"As if I would."

"It doesn't make me a pervert." Sirius pointed a finger at him. "I was just curious." Pre-emptive defence, now James was worried.

"Okay..." Sirius pushed back against the tree, arms folded tightly against his chest, watching his feet as he kicked at the ground.

"You know how I've started waking you guys up most mornings?"

"Yeah?" James prompted.

"I... I've looked. At him."

"Looked?" James asked quietly.

"Yes, looked!"

"So, maybe the bed covers hide it." James suggested weakly. He couldn't believe they were actually discussing Remus' morning hard on or lack thereof.

"No. He always get straight out of bed. Nothing there."

"Jesus, Padfoot." James muttered.

"I was curious. It's fucking weird!" His friend defended.

"Yeah, it is." James agreed. "But it's also fucking weird how much you're thinking about it!" Sirius pushed a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Don't get so freaked out, Prongs. I'm just worried, okay?" James frowned again, it seemed to be the expression of the day.

"Worried? Mate, I don't think impotency is contagious." Sirius searched his face unbelievingly.

"For _Remus_, James."

"Right." Sirius lit another cigarette.

"There's got to be something really wrong with him." He took a drag.

"Somehow, I doubt he'd want to see Madame Pomfrey about it." Sirius grinned at the scandalised image of Remus in his head.

"True. But I don't think it's physical." James crossed the lawn to stand beside him.

"Here. Give us that." He indicated the cigarette.

"This is rare." Sirius quirked that eyebrow again.

"Shut up." They shared the cigarette in silence for a while.

"You think it's psychological, then?" Sirius looked across at James, surprised that he'd picked the conversation back up.

"Yeah."

"Why'dja reckon that?" Sirius shrugged.

"Just the way he acts in sometimes."

"Like?"

"Like when we're talking about sex. He never participates."

"Yes, he..."

"No. He listens and comments but he doesn't, I don't know, _sympathise. _It's like he's not going through it with us. Like he's outside of it." James nodded thoughtfully, now that Sirius mentioned it, it was true.

"And he has a lot going for him with the girls, even if he_ does_ still look like a little kid, but he completely ignores them."

"I wouldn't say.."

"James." Sirius stopped him. "I'm telling you. He doesn't care."

"Ah, come on. Give an example." Sirius looked at him.

"You want an example?" James nodded.

"Okay, last year, your birthday party. Sheila Martin got pissed, took off her bra and table danced."

James grinned lopsidedly in remembrance.

"Oh yeah. That was a bloody brilliant night." The other boy snorted.

"I found you the next morning crashed in the bathroom in a pool of your own vomit."

"It's better than someone else's vomit." James pointed out. "Besides, I never said it was a good morning, did I?" Sirius tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Fair enough. Anyway, back to Sheila."

"Oh, yes please."

"Remember how, after the table dance she sauntered over to Remus' chair and gave him a lap dance?" James grinned.

"Oh God, yeah. I do remember. That was tops. I couldn't believe Remus."

"What couldn't you believe?"

"Well, just," James spread his hands wide, "how he just sat there."

"Yeah.

_Her skirt was so short that straddling Remus' lap as she was it barely covered her knickers. Smooth, firm thighs squeezed his legs as she undulated slowly atop him. She arched her back, raking her mass of chestnut hair away from her face. The movement caused her shirt to ride up, exposing the perfect skin of her stomach and the line of her abdomen. James watched agape as she brought her perfectly manicured nails to scratch gently down Moony's chest. She moved her hips and, there was a collective intake of breath from all of the males in the room, ground them against the seated boy's groin. She made to unbutton his shirt when Remus' hands stayed her. _

"_That's enough, Sheila. You've had your fun." His voice came out as smooth and warm as ever. There was no waver of checked desire just weariness and concern. _

"_What?" She breathed against his lips, stroking his face and moving to nuzzle against his neck. Remus had just sighed gently, the same sigh he seemed to share for all of the problems he had to deal with, and rose, taking her weight with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and giggled. "Where're you taking me, Mister Prefect?" _

"_I'm putting you to bed, Miss Martin." He replied good naturedly as if her weight barely bothered him._

"_Oh goodie."_

"_May I enter the girl's dormitory?" _

"_Yes, please." She sighed and began lapping at his neck. Lily Evans had only just returned at the end of the lap dance and was standing there shocked. James allowed himself a brief daydream of a lap dancing Lily._

"_Is everyone just going to let this happen?" She made as if to intervene as they disappeared up the stairwell when Sirius grabbed her. _

"_Wait, Lily."_

"_What for?" She'd snapped._

"_Just wait."_

"_But.."_

"_It's Remus, for Christ's sake!" She glared. Oh, so hot when she's angry._ _She waited for what must've been five minutes before throwing her hands up in disgust and moving to go aid her inebriated peer. _

"_It's alright, Lily." Remus' voice appeared from the stairs just ahead of him. "I got her to bed with a little persuasion." The silence from the boys in the room was deafening. _

"_She's asleep?" Lily asked unbelievingly. Remus nodded and wiped at his neck vaguely. _

"_Yes. Is this the first time she's had alcohol?" Someone nodded. "I thought as much. Don't worry, I gave her some water and transfigured a bucket for her."_

"_And she let you go?" Remus smiled slightly._

"_Yes, unless there are two of me." Frank Longbottom stared._

"_But she was all over you."_

"_Quite literally, Frank, yes." He moved back to his chair and picked up his jacket. Conversation started back up._

"_You actually left?" Some smart arse fourth year asked. "She was **begging** for it!" Remus ignored him and crossed the common room. "What's wrong with that guy?" The fourth year continued to his mates. "Sweet bit of arse waving in his face and he don't bite..." Remus stopped and turned, pointing at the boy. "Detention." The boy gaped and conversation faltered again. "Learn some respect, Matthew. The way you are now is disgusting." Matthew, James observed, was obviously not a fast learner. _

"_Respect? You think I should treat you differently just 'cos you've got a school badge?" Remus didn't even stop his progress upstairs. _

"_I wasn't talking about me. She's going to have a rough enough day tomorrow as it is. Nobody's going to make it any rougher, now. Are they?" There was a quiet, slightly disappointed chorus of 'Course not'. "Great. Goodnight." James could hear the smile in his voice as he disappeared from sight._

"What else, Prongs?" Sirius asked. James shrugged, he was surprised he even remembered that much. It had been a _very_ good night. "His eyes." Sirius continued. "They were completely indifferent."

"He was just being a gentleman." James suggested.

"Nah." Sirius waved a hand dismissively. "Being a gentleman is all about control. I mean, God knows, Moony's the King of control but there was nothing there. Like he was bored"

"Yeah." James agreed vaguely. "Yeah, he was."


	12. fracture

Remus let his eyes flutter closed as a warm breeze gently teased his hair, stirring it as a lover's breath would. He sighed happily enjoying the sensation before opening his eyes and once more taking in the view of dawn breaking over Paris.

Remus did not do this sort of thing regularly, he was usually just getting into bed at this time of day. Once the clientèle had departed for their lives outside of these walls the members of the Honey Trap dropped their masks and rested before the darkening of the sky required that they resume them once more. In most cases Remus would have joined them in sleep but today was different; today he was returning to England. As had become custom among the Marauders the boys converged upon the Potter's house in the week leading up to the commencement of term, unless the full moon prevented it, for seven days of swimming holes, tan lines and alcoholic substances of dubious origin.

It would be laughable to suggest that Remus was a traditionalist of all things (though none of his friends were quite aware of exactly _how _laughable) but he had, since a young age, made a habit of marking certain occasions. He was leaving France today and this had become his way of bidding her goodbye.

Certain scents, certain sights could haunt a person for all of their lives. For Remus Lupin even in his dying days, many a year from now, the scent of wet asphalt would still scrabble at his insides with it's lonely, mocking claws but Paris at first light, the skyline of Paris with the sun rising triumphant over the rooftops, ah, few things could create such a well of inexplicable emotion within him. It was a surge of such intense awareness of the world around him, a feeling of such complete beauty and _openness_ that his breath would catch and shudder in his throat. It almost frightened him to feel as much as he did in those moments, internal upheaval of any kind was rare for him and left him a little rattled but he couldn't help but believe that this was a positive experience, like spiritual spring cleaning, opening the windows off his soul to sweep out the cobwebs.

He stretched his newly grown limbs and leant against the railing of his balcony, musing upon the events of the past summer. The most obvious changes had been physical; although Sirius delighted in making fun of his small frame the truth was that he had already started to show signs of a growth spurt before leaving school, it just so happened that it had continued the first few weeks of the summer. He had gained quite a lot of height. If he kept growing like this he believed he'd be of a similar height to Sirius himself by the time school was over and done with. The thought made him smile as he imagined Sirius's likely reaction to that. The added height had made things a bit difficult for him at first, getting used to his longer limbs had taken some time, luckily the majority of his clients were thoroughly taken with his new coltish body and had not complained of any awkwardness. By the end of the holidays his body had fleshed out somewhat for which he was thankful, he had not enjoyed the pigeon-chested, scrawny phase that sudden growth had imposed upon him.

The second remarkable thing that had occurred to Remus over the summer had been women.

His more mature body had finally garnered him attention from the female members of the Honey Trap's clientèle and so, at Anton's instruction, he began training with Sophie and Roberto learning how to bring a woman endless pleasure. It had been much more difficult than he anticipated. A few things had been the same but women, he found, were much harder to please, slower to respond. Making things even more difficult had been the role reversal, he was used to being the one yielding, opening. Being the "male" in this situation truly made him feel virginal all over again. Slowly though he learnt the techniques and assumed the more masculine role required. At first to cover his nerves he assumed a new character when with women, one that radiated an air of confidence, charisma and desire. He changed the way he moved when meeting with women, Remus cast off his habitual gentle grace and began to slowly stalk across the floor, pinning his client with his unblinking eyes. Afterwards, while briskly cleaning his body, he would look in the mirror and sternly reaffirm that he was not _(was not, was __not!) _basing this new mode of seduction on anybody.

Remus had come to enjoy servicing women, they were so much softer and more pliable than men. He loved slipping their long, shiny hair through his fingers and the way they kissed was so sensual compared to men who were all passion and dominance. It wasn't desire he felt, no, that was too foreign an emotion to Remus for it to be anything but feigned on his part, but women added a whole new dimension to his work for which he was grateful.

This new maturity had not slipped the notice of the men either. Remus found himself with a new breed of male clients, ones who wanted nothing more than to worship and be dominated by young men with their long limbs and lean bodies. So much variety now, this had truly been an educational summer, even if he had lost one or two of his usual clients but nothing could've been done about that. Those particular men had a taste for the juvenile that no one over fifteen (and even that was pushing it), no matter how alluring, could possibly sate.

Remus grinned to himself and tossed back the last of his coffee, savouring the rich flavour for the last time before the next school break. It was strange, he mused, how in France the only hot beverage he drank was coffee but in England he was a freak for a cup of good English Breakfast tea. It was stranger still how his friends actually believed that he hated coffee with a passion (he'd never bothered to admit to them that it was just the coffee at Hogwarts that he couldn't abide). It was, he decided, just another indication of how fractured he was becoming. There was only so long that he could keep living two completely separate lives before he would become two completely separate people. It was already beginning, he knew the two worlds could never touch so he did everything within his power to block out his life in England while in France and visa versa.

The more time he spent at Hogwarts the more English he felt he was becoming. It hadn't taken long for him to comprehend and utilise a more casual, and arguably, more natural form of English. He still retained his polite manner of speech, that was simply part of his personality, but now, especially with the softening of his accent, he sounded more "polite young Englishman" less "book taught foreigner". Arriving at platform 9 and 3 quarters at the start of the school year he could physically feel his English blood rushing to take control and it happened so naturally and so quickly once he passed that barrier that there was no artifice. He wasn't playing a role, wasn't lying about who he was (other than hiding his status as a Dark Creature, he would always and forever deny _that_ outside of the Honeytrap), he _was_ Remus Lupin, polite young Englishman and school prefect. He was free to learn, prank, enjoy the naivety of his classmates and, oh how he loved this part, to be as scruffy and unconcerned about his everyday appearance as any other boy his age.

Remus loved his life at Hogwarts but he was equally content right here in Paris. He kept no pictures or mementos of his friends or of Hogwarts in his room here, they did not exist here. He wouldn't even talk about school voluntarily, not even with Anton. While here he fucked whomsoever paid the fee and did things with them, to them and to _himself _for their viewing pleasurethat would shock and disgust even Sirius, the self-proclaimed liberal. But here he could also sing and dance without worrying about all the attention he was attracting and he could tell some of the most truly dark and filthy jokes on the planet that only the people at the Honeytrap could really appreciate. Here he was a werewolf and a whore yet he was worshipped by clients and adored by his coworkers and he, in turn, adored them. They loved and respected him here. It was no secret that he was Anton's heir, Remus already had many responsibilities concerning the operation of the brothel. It was a role he relished and took very seriously. He wouldn't have to sell his body forever, Anton had even mentioned something about an early retirement. Yes, in Paris he had prospects, he could be someone of independent means but would his friends ever... no. No, they would never understand, would never even really try to. After all how could they?

How could people who've lived such innocent and privileged lives know anything about true deseperation and abandonment? How could they understand how incredibly _lucky_ he was? They couldn't, they'd only see the things he'd done.

Oh, he had no doubt that they'd be more outraged and horrified on his behalf than disgusted by him but still that wasn't what he wanted them to see. Remus wanted his friends to see the love and respect between Anton and himself, to show them how damn _proud_ he was, how proud they all were, to be part of the fantasy that was the Honeytrap.

He wanted to tell them that before Hogwarts the Honeytrap was the best thing to ever happen to him but they'd never understand, so he never would.

Sighing once more he grabbed his breakfast tray and rose to his feet, he had a lot of packing to do and a few marks from last night to glamour before leaving Paris and begging Lycan goodbye for the term.


End file.
